you say i killed you (haunt me then)
by LowkeyLyesmiths
Summary: When Peter retells this story later (and rest assured he will retell this because he did not transcend the boundaries of life and death just to be killed by a bunch of jumped up Alphas in their kink dungeon) he will be very careful to mention the fact that this was all Stilinski's fault. In which Peter is saved by someone unlikely. (Chris/Peter eventually - we hope)
1. Chapter 1

**AN: **Peter/Chris snuck up from behind and became one of my otp's. Go figure. This has been up for a while on Ao3 but i figured i'd put it here too :)

title is a quote from Wuthering Heights.

tw: torture in this chapter.

Unbeta'd, enjoy!

* * *

When Peter retells this story later (and rest assured he _will_ retell this because he did _not_ transcend the boundaries of life and death just to be killed by a bunch of jumped up Alphas in their kink dungeon) he will be very careful to mention the fact that this was _all _Stilinski's fault.

Here's how it went: Derek and his baby betas (sans Scott of course because he was still playing Romeo and Juliet with Allison Argent) headed out on a mission to strike against the Alphas (they hoped anyway.) Derek, in his infinite wisdom, had decided to leave Peter behind (because all the best battle strategies began with living your most - no your _only_- experienced soldier behind) to continue researching and generally hold down the fort (read: _we're leaving you behind because you might turn psycho and kill one of us_ which Peter wouldn't do, except maybe Jackson because _Jesus_ that boy had some serious issues) Anyway, no matter how hard Peter protested Derek wouldn't relent and since he was Peter's Alpha he figured he may as well just sit back and let this one play out.

Stiles hadn't exactly been pleased about being left behind either (so at least Peter had gotten a kick out of watching Stiles trying to talk down an increasingly irritated Derek) but then it had just been tapping away at laptops and trying to ignore the faint sounds of his pack getting further and further away and Stiles getting progressively more frustrated.

It was Stiles' idea to move on the Alpha's base.

Peter's still not entirely sure how the stupid kid talked him in to actually _doing_ it.

So they'd moved on their base, thinking they'd catch it unguarded and well, it hadn't gone as planned. Peter had been captured and that dumb kid had gotten away (God knows how.)

There are certain rules about what you can and can't do to prisoners usually during pack conflicts, the trouble is Peter's fairly certain Derek won't be in any hurry to bargain for his life, he certainly won't be riding in on a white horse to break him free. Peter's kind of just hoping that the Alpha pack don't know that (and he's kind of wishing they'd caught Stilinski too because Derek would charge in then - he'd possibly also be so rash he got everyone killed but that's neither here not there.) So that means he's on his own. Again.

It's one of the younger ones who's caught him, one of the twins, the poor thing looks so overjoyed at catching him Peter's almost sorry to tell the kid he'll be no use as a bargaining chip.

The kid has tied him up in what looks like a torture chamber (or S&M dungeon) and the chains are pure silver melded with _something_ rippling underneath the metal that Peter can't quite get a read on. It holds him arms spread-wide, chained to a wall, his legs chained beneath him (he reaches out through his pack bond and he can't feel it properly anymore, it's like forcing himself through molasses or fog and that's when a little worm of fear works its way in to his mind.)

He's left alone for almost half an hour before the alpha flounces in, teeth out and glinting in the pale light of the room.

"Look, kid, as flattering as this is and not that I don't love all this kinky shit, you're a little young for me." Peter begins.

"Peter Hale," the kid purrs. "Last I heard you were dead, or as good as dead anyway."

Peter's not entirely sure how this kid knows him but then the Hale line was almost legendary, the fire must have been big news. "Didn't stick," Peter answers with a smirk.

The kid quirks an eyebrow, "She said you were funny, 'The Hale Sense of Humour' she called it. Do you like those chains? We had them charmed specially."

Ah, so it's magic then. That's not good. Witches being involved in _anything_ is not good.

The kid stalks across to him, Peter supposes its supposed to be intimidating but this Alpha looks about the same age as Derek's baby betas and hey, Peter has, you know, been _reborn_. Nothing like death to dull your sense of fear. The kid pulls out, of all things, a blade, intricately carved with ancient symbols. His father could read those, his brother too. Maybe he could have once but the fire has left him with a sort of muddled, raw, jumble of memories that he's still trying to reorganise.

"It dulls your senses, see?" The kid says, tapping the chains with the knife. "Your wolf senses, the ones connecting you to your pack."

Peter growls but his fangs don't slide down.

The kid chuckles, "You won't be able to shift either." Then his eyes flash red, "Guess what else?"

He drags the knife across Peter's skin and it _burns_ (like wolfsbane but it can't be because how can the kid be holding it?) Peter grits his teeth against the pain and the boy licks his fangs. "You can't heal," he says gleefully.

_Duh._

"How long do you think it'll take you to die?" The kid asks, examining the bloodied blade with interest.

Peter grins lazily, "Oh, come on, kid. What makes you think death will work this time?"

It's four hours before the other Alphas are back and by that time the kid has finally grown bored of slashing at him. Peter suppresses a groan when they parade through and poke at him like he's a zoo exhibit because they're all unharmed and happy and that means that whatever Derek had been planning hadn't worked and that his pack was probably on the losing side of this particular scuffle.

He's met Kali before, heard of Deucalion, the others are new to him though. Deucalion's the leader so Peter directs most of his snark at him. "You know, typically in a pack fight there'd be some attempt at bargaining by now, not that this isn't lovely." He snarls through gritted teeth.

Deucalion sniggers, "_Typically_, yes. But this isn't a typical case is it? Your pack doesn't seem overly concerned that you're missing and this is hardly a _normal_ scuffle, is it?"

And Peter thinks, _shit._

The twins, Ethan and Aidan, are easy to wind up though it doesn't do Peter any favours and as torture goes they're pretty unimaginative. Ennis is pretty easy too, he just likes knocking Peter about and guffawing stupidly (what the hell kind of name is Ennis anyway?) Kali is possibly his favourite because hey, who doesn't like to be smacked about by a beautiful woman every few hours? (He had an interesting upbringing okay?) None of them worry him too much, they're holding back and it's fun to pit them against each other (_if you're __**all**__ alphas why do you listen to him?_) They've been firing questions at him intermittently, mostly about the pack, the Kanima incident, Jackson, and Peter decides he doesn't even want to _know_.

Deucalion though, he doesn't like.

The first time he's granted a one on one audience with Deucalion is after they've held him for about three days or so (Peter's a little fuzzy on the details since he's being, you know, tortured, plus they haven't fed him yet and he's fairly sure he's experiencing the human equivalent if three day hunger.) He strides in, all teeth and flashy suit and says in overly cheery manner, "Hey, Petey. How are you enjoying your stay with us?"

Peter looks up tiredly, "The room service here is awful."

Deucalion smiles, "I'll pass on your feelings to the housing staff." He paces around and passes out of Peter's line of sight. "You know, your pack still don't seem too concerned about you being missing, Peter. It's no fun at _all._" There's a shuffling sound and then Deucalion appears again, "So, I thought I'd give them a little incentive."

Ethan and Aidan come down the stairs behind him carrying a long metal pipe and a can of oil. Peter swallows. _Hurry the fuck up, Derek._

He turns around again and Peter hears the familiar scrape and hiss of a match being lit, the sudden scent of smoke (_and burning flesh and screaming and oh_.) He gets his heart best under control (just barely) but Deucalion smirks (not quick enough.) It's only a match.

"So that must have been _horrific_," he enunciates slowly. "Your family burning alive like that and then all those years trapped in your head," he leans in close and drags a claw down the side of Peter's face. The blood trickles down slowly. "What did it feel like to die?"

Peter barely resists flinches away as Deucalion brings the match up close to his cheek. It meets his skin with a hiss and the stench of burnt flesh. He jerks at that (_they're dying and he can't help them, he can't save them_) the twins snigger.

"I've made a few adjustments to the spell binding you," Deucalion says and Aidan and Ethan start pouring a ring of oil around him and Deucalion. "This is special oil by the way, very safe to use."

Peter's heartbeat speeds up as they light the oil and hand Deucalion the pipe. The flames are close, too, too close. (_ohohoh_) Deucalion holds the pipe in the flames, "You know," he says, like he's not about to flay the skin off Peter with a metal pipe. "I heard you were horribly scarred by that fire, half your face melted off, was it?"

The pipe is white hot in the flames.

All Peter can smell is smoke and his family burning.

He gags.

Deucalion raises the pipe out of the flames, "Anyway, as I was saying, I've changed the spell. You still won't heal but," he grinned and his eyes flashed red as he presses the pipe to Peter's cheek, "your pack will certainly hear this."

Peter screams.

Scott jerks upright as the scream tears through his consciousness, Allison tenses beside him.

She sits up, grasping his arm, "What's wrong?"

"I don't..." Scott gasps, "I need to get to the pack."

Peter has no idea how long he's hanging there in the Alpha's dungeon, his throat raw.

He becomes aware at some point that there's _something_ happening because he can hear crashing and yelling. They've left him alone with Ethan or Aidan (he's fairly sure not even Deucalion can tell the difference between them) again, they'd told him gleefully that they were going after Peter's pack again.

Peter can't hear his pack anymore, can't feel them through the fog.

Derek's not coming.

Peter will get out.

He _will_.

He just needs to rest a bit.

Just  
A  
Bit.

And then there are hands and someone forcing his face upwards (someone's saying something and there's this unnamable fear building in him - what if he's trapped again, broken again?) Blue eyes boring in to his.

"Chris," he murmurs.


	2. Chapter 2

Chris Argent is seventeen when he meets Peter Hale.

Well, he's seventeen when he _officially_ meets Peter Hale, he's known _of_ Peter Hale for years (you can't live in Beacon Hills and _not_ know the Hales - even if your hunter father isn't obsessed with them.) His dad has been warning him to keep an eye on the youngest Hale brother since they started middle school together and Chris, dutiful son that he is, has done so.

It's hard to believe he's a werewolf, this golden boy. Star athlete, straight A's sweet nature. None of that fits in to the picture his father paints of the brutal savagery of werewolves but Chris has learnt (painfully) that its better not to question Gerard Argent so he doesn't, he just keeps his head down and gets on with it. He stumbles in to Peter in the corridor beside the trophy case, their books scatter everywhere and Chris is already stumbling over apologies (he'd been in a hurry, desperately trying to think of a good excuse to avoid PE so the class wouldn't see the sickly green pixie bite on his ankle.)

Peter smiles brilliantly and bends to help him gather up his things, "That's alright, no harm done." He hands Chris a math textbook, "You're Chris, right? You're in a few of my classes."

Chris thanks him and nods, "I'm not going to pretend I don't know you're name." He says, gesturing to the trophies beside them. (Peter's name is on five, _five_)

Peter chuckles and Chris suddenly notices how blue Peter's eyes are. His heart speeds up a little and Peter cocks his head to the side. _Shit,_Chris thinks. _Damn werewolf._

Peter grins knowingly.

Chris is nineteen when he leaves Beacon Hills.

He doesn't tell Peter until the last possible moment. He doesn't want to see Peter hurt because of him, he doesn't want their last few weeks together to be spent with Peter angry at him. But he can't stay here anymore, he can't live with Gerard anymore. He just _can't._

He meets Peter at their secret place in the woods, beside a little stream, hidden by a row of close little trees. There's a fallen log across the water and a large flat rock beside it. It's been their hideaway for years, they couldn't very well go public, could they? The werewolf and the hunter. Gerard would skin them both. The Hale's might not skin them but Chris doubts they'd be supportive.

"Like Romeo and Juliet," Peter had said drunkenly one evening and Chris had laughed and shoved him off the rock into the stream below.

"You are _such_ a _girl_."

And Peter had chuckled, "Yes and who was it that practically swooned over their valentines gift last year?"

It had been a crossbow and yes, Chris had been a little overwhelmed but he hadn't swooned for gods sake. (Later he'll use that crossbow to shoot a rogue wolf in Washington State and think about how absurd it was for Peter to give him that.)

Peter is already there when Chris trudges over, perched on the log and swinging his legs over the water. He looks up with a toothy grin but then he cocks his head (and its that little habit of his that almost undoes Chris) and his grin falls away. He leaps off the log and splashes across to Chris. "What's wrong?" He asks urgently.

Chris looks in to the eyes of the boy he loves and breaks his heart.

He visits Peter after the fire when he is a prisoner in his own head and his eyes are wide and glassy, his face obscured by bandages.

(He knows deep down it was Kate. Kate, who he failed in every possible way, who destroyed the boy he failed too)

He dries his eyes and presses a kiss to Peter's un-bandaged cheek before going back to his wife and daughter.

"Stay _still_," Chris snarls as Peter wriggles unhelpfully. The cuffs have cut in to Peter's wrists, making them slick with blood. He's not sure whether Peter has any idea what's going on, his skin is hot with fever and he's not healing (which is maddeningly unhelpful.) Peter's skin is a patchwork of bruises and cuts and burns that make even Chris's strong stomach churn.

Peter mumbles something under his breath and half-heartedly growls before slumping over limply and _thank fuck_ because Chris is definitely not up for awkward conversations right now. He finally manages to get the chains loose and Peter sort of flops in to his arms. "Christ, Peter," he mumbles. "Could do with losing a few pounds."

_Or maybe you're just getting old, Chris,_ his inner Peter suggests.

Chris is inclined to agree.

He makes his way out of the basement slowly, half carrying, half dragging the werewolf along with him, wishing this was Derek (or anyone) instead of him. He gingerly steps over the crumpled body of one of the Alpha twins. He's fairly certain the other Alpha's will have felt the death of their pack-mate, even if their bond works differently than other packs, the brother certainly will have. Killing the kid was rash but the rules of engagement changed, at least for Chris, when they took Peter. Derek will still chew him out for this. (Chris still finds it hard to take orders from a kid barely older than Allison.) The initial plan had been to simply drive them back without death being involved, now they'll be looking for retribution along with whatever else it was they came here for.

Technically, they shouldn't even be staging this rescue. Derek had flat out refused, reassuring them that the Alphas wouldn't kill him, the whole rescue had been Stiles' idea. Him, Stiles and Allison had put this all together, he's fairly certain Stiles can hide his lies from the wolves, Allison is working on it and aside from Scott (and Jackson through Lydia) she doesn't have much contact with the rest of the pack.

Allison is waiting outside for him, crossbow raised, eyes scanning the trees around them. He hates that she's turned in to this, this cold hunter. She's still Allison, still his baby girl, but now there's this whole new dimension to her that is solely Kate. He never wanted this life for her.

She turns to them, pivots elegantly, crossbow raised. "Dad," she hisses with a sigh of relief then she looks at Peter, "Jesus," she breaths. "Is he...?"

"He's alive," Chris grimaces, shifting Peter's weight a little. "Barely. We have to move." Allison nods and takes point, jumping and twitching at every sudden noise and snapping twig.

Stiles is waiting by the edge of the tree line on a little dirt road that winds its way through the forest. The jeep hums to life as they stumble out of the woods and they hurry over too it, depositing Peter in the back seats. Chris climbs in after him and Allison rides shotgun. He shifts Peter so the werewolf's head is in his lap to check his pulse.

"Holy Jesus," Stiles gawks. "How is he even alive?"

"Can you just watch the road, please?" Chris snaps. "We need to get out of here quickly."

Allison frowns at him in the rear-view mirror and Chris curses. She's always been too damn perceptive. "Dad, what happened?"

There's no point in lying so Chris sighs, "I killed one of the Alphas."

Stiles swears and Allison sets her jaw.

"I had no choice," Chris says calmly. "It was self defence."

"Derek is gonna be _pissed,_" Stiles says with a wince.

"We wouldn't have needed to do this at all if you had just stayed put, Stiles!" Allison snaps and Stiles quiets down. They take Peter back to Chris' house and Stiles helps them get inside, they dump Peter in the spare bedroom and lock the doors and windows.

"I gotta get back, my dad'll be worried," Stiles mumbles, ducking his head. "I'll talk to Derek en route if you want."

Chris almost laughs, this teenager offering to take the heat for him. "It's okay, I'll deal with Derek." Chris assures. He knows Stiles isn't _scared_ of Derek per se but he's fairly sure everyone would rather avoid a confrontation with that surly boy.

Stiles brightens and nods, waving awkwardly to Allison and making his way to the door.

"Wait," Chris says. "Take Allison with you. Or to Scott's, I don't want her in the house till we know he's safe." Allison look like she's about to protest but he shoots her a look that might be more befitting his father and she clams up. She hugs him goodbye and he watches from the window as they pull away from the curb before heading back up to the spare bedroom.

Peter is curled on one side, still out of it and Chris sighs with relief. He grabs the first aid kit from the bathroom and sets about cleaning out Peter's wounds. Some of the shallower ones are already starting to scab over and Chris takes that to be a good sign. He winces when he daubs at the burns on Peter's cheek and body, remembers Scott trying to explain the howls of fear and pain echoing in his head.

Derek phones midway through this process and snarls and yells at Chris for being an idiot, for compromising all their safety, for ruining everything. Chris lets him rage, Derek is all hot bursts of anger, he'll fizzle out soon enough. He's fairly certain Derek won't break the shaky truce they have over this because despite everything Peter was still his uncle, his pack mate, he'll be glad the other wolf is alive.

Eventually, Derek does trail off and Chris calmly tells him what happened and that what ever happens they'll get through it. Derek huffs and hangs up and right on cue Peter gasps awake, eyes wide flashing gold and fangs out and ready.

Chris has cuffed him to the bed (he's not an idiot, he knew Peter would freak the hell out when he woke up and he was in no shape to wrestle off a half-crazed werewolf.

"Stop," Chris says as Peter bolts upright. "_Peter_ stop!"

Peter's fever-bright eyes meet his and there's a flicker of recognition and a wave of emotion raw and visceral and deep, _you left, you left me, you __**broke **__me._ But the Peter's calm facade slides down, the shutters close.

"Christopher," he rasps, there's an edge of fear to his voice, his hands are trembling, balled on the bed spread.

"It's okay," Chris says. "You're okay."


	3. Chapter 3

Peter sleeps through most of the next day and its only when it starts getting to evening that Chris notices none of his wounds have actually healed. Allison hovers at the bedroom doorway and worries her bottom lip, "He isn't getting better." She says eventually and Chris almost snaps at her.

Derek didn't come to collect his uncle as Chris had hoped he would instead deciding that Chris' home was the best place for him so Chris had spent most of the day fortifying the place with mountain ash and a few other simple defences. The Alphas were understandably angry about the death of Ethan or Aidan, whichever one it was and Chris didn't really want a full scale war on his front lawn (_the neighbours would be very upset,_his inner Peter points out brightly.)

Stiles had dropped by with Scott to drop off Allison though. "I'm glad he's, you know, not dead," Stiles had said awkwardly when they'd piled in to the guest room. Scott had given him a sharp look and Stiles had shrugged, "We need him to win this war," which Scott had decided was a valuable excuse for Peter's continued existence.

It was kind of sad, really. If it had been any other pack member everyone would be clamouring around to help. Chris likes to think that Derek at least might hold some affection for his uncle (but then again he did kill Laura so possibly not.) Chris is self aware enough to admit that there's still a deep curl of _something_ in his heart for Peter but that's for the high school Peter. The one who snarked with no malice in his voice and smiled brightly, not the Peter that radiates bitterness and would probably tear Chris' throat out given half the chance. But it's getting hard to separate the two Peters in his mind because the Peter currently passed out on his bed probably isn't up for throat-tearing and doesn't seem to be conscious enough to be bitter or crazy so where does that leave Chris? (It also doesn't help that Stiles reminds him weirdly off _his_ and Chris really has no idea what to do with that.)

Stiles and Scott leave eventually but Allison refuses to go stay at Scott's again so Chris has her checking the defences and armoury while he drifts about aimlessly and occasionally checks in on the unconscious werewolf.

It's around 8 that he notices the fever, Peter is trembling and the blankets are soaked through with sweat.

_Shit_, he thinks.

Peter is drifting.

(Or maybe he's flying.)

He's not really sure.

(His mouth tastes like dirt and he can smell burning)

He's hot.

_So_ hot.

But he's shivering so he must be cold.

(He's dead again, he must be. He's dead but he's _not_. He can feel his skin cracking and his flesh rotting and his bones are bare and its cold, it's so cold underground, the worms chew through him. And he's so _horribly_ alive.

Except that he isn't.)

And he's trapped in a burning house.

_His_ burning house.

(They're screaming.)

There's someone talking above him and his eyes snap open and its Chris. (But Chris left, Chris is _gone._ No, he came back - didn't he?)

_Hunter._

He tries to sit up with a growl because he needs to _save them_ but Chris pushes him down, blue eyes wide and concerned.

"Need to help them," he gasps.

Chris frowns, "Help who?" His voice is loud and echo-y.

"They're - they're dying, on _fire,_ Chris. Your sister... Your _sister_ - You _left_ and she..." He's rambling, he's faintly aware of that but his thoughts have been knocked loose and he can't gather them together properly.

"Peter," Chris says, his voice is soft like it used to be, "That was years ago."

Oh, right.

He was trapped and then...

He's dead.

He _died._

Derek killed him.

It's so absurd that he giggles and Chris looks alarmed and says something to someone Peter can't see. He looks like he cares again but Peter's dead so wouldn't that be necrophilia? Chris blanches and Peter realises he can hear his own voice. Must have said that out loud.

Chris is carefully looking anywhere but at Peter's face so maybe he doesn't care after all.

"I care," Chris says gruffly and then he's pressing something gloriously cool to Peter's forehead and Peter _whimpers_.

(But he's still burning - can feel the flames tearing at his skin - white hot he's melting and they're still _screaming_ It pounds in his ears and _hurts_.)

"He's not getting better," Allison repeats from the doorway. She's pale and Chris wonders if she's seeing Scott on the bed rather than Peter. "Why isn't he healing?"

"I don't know," Chris murmurs as Peter writhes and groans. It's been a day already, Peter should be healing, not getting steadily worse. He presses the ice pack to Peter's forehead and racks his brains for anything that might explain this.

"We should phone Derek," Allison says. "He might know something."

Chris sighs. (_Emphasise on might,_ his inner Peter sniggers.) The sad truth is that Derek doesn't actually know much about being an alpha. "Pass me the phone," he says heavily.

Derek picks up quickly, "How's Peter?" He asks immediately, sounding more annoyed than usual. "He's worse, isn't he?" But unfortunately (and unsurprisingly) he doesn't know anything but he does growl and gripe and mutter something about going after the alphas which is _unhelpful._

"Try Deaton," he says before hanging up, "And _don't_ let him die, Argent."

Advisors are meant to stay neutral as far as hunters, wolves and all other supernatural creatures but Chris isn't sure that extents to helping mass-murderers, still, its worth a shot. Allison heads back downstairs for another ice pack as Chris dials the vet surgery, Scott answers the phone even though its 1am and Chris is fairly certain it's illegal for him to be working this late at his age.

"I _am_ a werewolf, I don't need that much sleep anymore," Scott reminds him. "How's Peter? He doesn't sound good."

Chris frowns at that, he gets that Derek could feel when Peter got worse but Scott? "I thought you weren't part of Derek's pack."

"I'm not, I just... It's complicated. I can't feel them as strongly as I would if I was _really_ in the pack, but there's still something, usually it's not strong or anything but lately... Whatever they did to Peter it's not good."

_You're telling me._

"That's why I need to speak to Deaton."

"Sure, yeah, gimme a minute," Scott says brightly.

There's some rustling and then Deaton's on the line, "That certainly doesn't sound good, I'll be right over." He says in this annoyingly calm tone that almost has Chris forgetting that he hasn't actually said anything about Peter's condition to the vet.

Peter twists some more, murmuring to himself.

Deaton arrives pretty quickly, striding into the room just as Peter's stopped mumbling about dying. It's odd because Chris is 100% sure Allison is in bed and at any rate he didn't hear the front door but he's too tired (and too busy holding Peter down) to really worry about that right now.

Deaton smiles and then says, "The Alpha pack is looking for your house, Christopher. And Derek's coming too, I hope you're prepared."

Chris is really starting to regret rescuing Peter.


	4. Chapter 4

When Chris is twenty-one he shoots his best friend in the head.

Martin is the best damned hunter Chris had ever seen, they'd gone to the same uni, met through their families. It's one of those things where they've been thrown together all their lives but there's the added benefit that they actually _like_ each other.

Their on a hunt near Beacon Hills when Martin gets bitten. It's Chris' fault, there's never been any doubt about that. Chris was too slow on the draw, loosed his arrow a few seconds too late and the wolf is on him biting and snapping and snarling.

(At some level Chris knows its not Peter - knows it by the wolf's glowing red eyes but there's this tiny voice whispering _maybemaybemaybe_.)

The arrow swishes through the air and thunks into the wolf's head, throwing it clear of Martin. Chris follows it up with a wolf's bane bullet and then he's by Martin's side.

It's a full moon and Martin is changing.

Chris has never seen it happen so fast.

Martin twist and writhes and snarls and _god_ Chris knows what he needs to do next but it doesn't make it any easier.

(Later it'll strike him that maybe when he hesitated before pulling the trigger it wasn't Martin he was thinking about.)

Gerard is furious, "The _Hales_," he snarls, "It must have been _their_ alpha, they'd never stand for a rogue on their land."

Chris just murmurs noncommittally and gets as far away from Beacon Hills as he can.

Chris stares at Deaton, "The Alpha pack." He repeats.

Deaton nods, eyeing Peter's curled form. "Oh, and Scott and Stiles are in the jeep downstairs. You might want to let them in."

Chris thinks about arguing but he's way too tired and besides, he needs to prepare for an imminent attack and wake up his seventeen year old daughter so she can help him shoot werewolves.

The neighbours will be _very_ upset.

Stiles has learnt that in 99.9% of werewolf related crises its better not to stop and ask why but to just roll with it; which is why when Scott raps on his window at half one in the morning he pulls on a pair of jeans and joins him. It's also why he didn't question it when Chris fucking Argent demanded to be involved in his stupid gung-ho rescue mission.

"I don't like this," Scott says for the billionth time. "There's something weird about this. Why would the Alphas do this to _Peter_?"

Stiles sighs, yeah, he's been wondering about that too but at the moment he's just going to assume its because they're evil and fucking shit up is what evil people do. Besides, he's more concerned with how the hell they're going to fight these guy's off. "I dunno dude, to piss Derek off? Maybe they just talked to him for a few minutes because there have definitely been times when I've considered putting him in a coma."

Scott shoots him his _Stiles-this-is-serious_ look which he's been using a lot lately. It's not like Stiles doesn't understand the gravity of the situation (he's pretty sure that he understands better than Scott who's little werewolf brain is probably on,y thinking about Allison rather than the fact that they could all die - or at least be sufficiently mauled.) No, Stiles just isn't so much about the negative emotions. It's a coping mechanism.

They scramble out of the jeep when a very world weary Chris stomps across the lawn towards them clutching a burlap sack. He kicks the dark powdered line and beckons to them, ignoring their winning smiles. As soon as Scott's over the line he sprinkles some ash to close up the ring.

"Deaton's upstairs. Guest bedroom," Chris mutters. He looks like hammered shit but then again Stiles figures that "hammered shit" is a fairly good collective term for their permanent state of being. "I have to wake Allison."

Scott leads the way since Stiles has never actually been to the Argent's house (he's still a little unclear on why he's here _now_ but Deaton insisted.) Deaton is bent over the bed, one hand on Peter's sweaty forehead, the other on his chest. Peter does actually look pretty bad, like when Derek was shot but like, a hundred times worse. He's pretty much grey, sweating, shaking but hey, at least he's not leering at anyone or snarking. Deaton's frowning which Stiles takes as Very Bad news.

Scott wrinkles his nose, "He smells weird."

Deaton glances up, "Strange how?"

"I don't know... Like death but different?"

Deaton pales a little and Stiles sighs, _another long night_. This is Very, Very not good. There's a flurry of activity behind him as the Argent's join them, both all weapon-ed up. "How is he?" Chris asks and it's odd, Stiles thinks, that he's up here rather than fortifying the lines or whatever it is people really do in battles. Fights. Whatever this is.

"Not good," Deaton mutters. "There was some kind of charm on whatever they held him in that's kept him from healing. Every time his body tries to heal itself its actually making things worse." Then he turns to face Scott, "You said you were still connected to him, yes? How does that bond feel?"

Scott wriggles, "I don't know, it's like I can feel the rest of the pack a bit, like not much but just, like a sense? But lately with Peter it's been different. It's like, I can feel feel what he's feeling a bit, I kept having nightmares about the fire and then him being - being dead and tortured and I don't know! It's like he can't control it anymore, like he can't hold himself back."

Allison frowns, "But I thought you weren't part of the pack?"

"I'm not..." They share an awkward look that fools no one, they're back to pretending not to be together and it's driving Stiles mad.

"Peter turned Scott, its not unusual that there'd be some lasting connection," Deaton says dismissively, "Stiles, I need you to get me the acacia leaves and the burdock root." He gestures to a bag on the bedside table and Stiles reaches for it, yanking it open and grabbing the leaves and roots he finds there. Scott's frowning and Stiles has the distinct impression he's about to say something along the lines of "_but that bag was empty._"

And he does and Stiles groans.

Deaton gives him one of his enigmatic smiles and sets about crushing the dried leaves into a bowl he's apparently drawn out of thin air.

"What are we going to do about the Alpha pack?" Allison asks, she's leaning against the wall, fiddling with an arrow.

"They won't risk exposure," Chris mutters. "They're not that stupid or desperate." He's standing over Deaton with this look on his face that Stiles only ever seen on one other person (and that isn't something he wants to remember anytime soon.)

"They're out for revenge," Allison points out with a sharp look at her father. "They might not be fully in control."  
Chris shoots her a withering look, "Deucalion won't let them."

Scott nods, "He won't, he's too clever for that." Allison is frowning at Scott and Stiles wonders if Scott's told her that Deucalion tried to "recruit" him. Probably not since that was back when they were _really_ broken up. It's been a long Summer.

"Chris," Deaton says, without looking up. "Derek will be here soon, why don't you and Scott go and let him in? He'll probably have Isaac with him."

"Great, pack meeting at the hunter's house," Stiles mutters as Scott and Chris shuffle off awkwardly, "Maybe I should phone Lydia and Jackson too."

Allison perches on the empty edge of the bed, "Might be an idea if the Alpha's are planning to wage war on my front lawn." She says gloomily.

"They won't wage war," Deaton says, rubbing some kind of gunky paste on to Peter's chest, "Your father was right about that at least."

Stiles peers at the dark paste, "What _is_ that?"

Deaton glances up at him, "Hopefully something that will at least ease the pain, bring the fever down. It's all I can do until I know more."

"He's not going to like, die, or anything, is he?" Not that Stiles really cares that much. In his humble opinion what is dead should stay dead, at least in the case of psycho wolves with weird skin fetishes. He's asking for Derek's sake because zombie-ness aside Peter's the only family Derek's got and even though Stiles knows Derek would probably rather drink a wolf's bane smoothie than admit it, Derek likes having Peter around (when he's not being a total psycho of course.)

Deaton's lips are a thin line and he shakes his head slowly, "Hopefully not. I just need to work out exactly what they did to him - magic is an exact art after all."

"Great. How are you going to do that? Seance?"

"He's not dead yet, Stiles," Allison snaps with a little more bite than Stiles feels is totally necessary. "Its only a seance if they're _dead_."

"_Well_."

Allison sighs, "Sorry, this is just... It's been a long week and my dad's really..." She breaks off and worries her bottom lip. Even Deaton looks interested in what she's about to say. "He really seems to care about this."

"Yeah, what's up with that?"

Allison shrugs, "I don't even know with him anymore."

Stiles thinks back to that look on Chris face (it was how his dad looked at his mom everyday they visited her in hospital, that hopeless, pleading look.)

"_Chris,_" Peter murmurs so quietly Stiles isn't a hundred percent sure he heard it right. _Huh,_ he thinks.

"Actually," Deaton interrupts, "I'm going to need your help with this, Stiles."

Stiles stares at him, "Help with what?"

Deaton smiles.


End file.
